by G. A. Henty
The party always started early in the morning, so as to get the tents erected at the halting-place before the main body of the Dervishes came up. On the march they kept some distance from the river, and being but a small group the gunboats did not waste their shot upon them; but each day there was a sharp exchange of fire between them and Mahmud's force.
Gregory supposed that Mahmud's plan was to cross the Atbara, which was fordable at several points, and to attack the fort there, in which case he had no doubt the Arabs would be driven off with much loss. The Sirdar was of the same opinion, and in order to tempt them to do so he maintained only one Egyptian brigade in the fort, the remainder of the force being concentrated at Kennur, four miles away. From this point they would be able to advance and take the Dervishes in flank while they were engaged in the attack of the fort. Mahmud, however, was kept well informed of the movements of the troops, and instead of continuing his course down the river-bank when he reached Gabati, he struck across the desert, and after two days' march crossed the Atbara at Nakheila. From this point, owing to the bend in the river, he would be able to march direct to Berber, avoiding the Atbara fort and the force gathered round it.
Altogether the desert march, although only lasting two days, was a trying one. The heat was overpowering, and even the ladies of the harem had the scantiest supply of water. They had at starting given Gregory a gourd of water for his own use. This he had taken sparingly, and it lasted him until they reached the Atbara.
It was now dead low water, and the river offered no obstacle to crossing, as the bed was for the most part dry, with pools here and there. The Arab encampment was formed in a thick grove of trees, which afforded some shelter from the sun.
Day after day passed. Mahmud was now informed as to the strength of the force he should have to encounter, and for the first time felt some doubt as to the issue of the fight. He determined, therefore, to stand on the defensive. This decision, however, he kept to himself. The Dervishes were burning to be led to the assault, and became almost mutinous on account of the delay. Mahmud was obliged to take the strongest measures, and several of those who were loudest in their dissatisfaction were summarily executed. The rest were pacified with the assurance that he was only waiting for a fortunate day. In the meantime the men were employed in fortifying the position. Deep holes were dug along the edge of the wood, and behind these were trenches and pitfalls.
Mahmud's own temper grew daily more sullen and fierce. His own fighting instinct was in favour of the attack his followers longed to deliver, but in his heart he was afraid that the result might be fatal. It was not the rifles of the infantry that he feared—of these he had no experience—but the artillery, which he had learned already could be used with terrible effect.
As Mahmud was drinking heavily, and as the fact that the white soldiers were near at hand added to the fanatical hatred of the emirs and tribesmen, Fatma sent a message by a slave to Gregory, warning him not to show himself outside the little shelter tent composed of a single blanket, in which he now lived.
At length it became known that the English host was approaching. As soon as the gun-boats brought down news that the Dervishes were no longer following the river-bank, but were disappearing into the desert, the Sirdar guessed their intentions. Nothing could have suited him better. A battle now must be a decisive one. There was no way of retreat open to the Dervishes except to cross the waterless desert, or to fly south keeping to the course of the Albara, which would take them farther and farther from the Nile with every mile they marched. Bringing up all his force, therefore, from Kennur and the Atbara fort, which one battalion was left to guard, the Sirdar took up his post at Hudi.
The position was well chosen. It lay half-way between Mahmud's camp at Nakheila and the Atbara fort, and left Mahmud only the option of attacking him or of making a long detour through the desert to the east in order to reach Berber. The British, on the other hand, could receive their supplies by camels from the Atbara fort. The cavalry went out to reconnoitre, and had constant skirmishes with the enemy's horse, but when day after day passed and Mahmud did not come, as the Sirdar had expected, to attack him, it was determined to take the offensive. General Hunter was ordered to move forward, with the whole of the cavalry and a Maxim-gun battery, to discover the exact position of the enemy.
The camp had been well chosen, for, like Abu Hamed, it lay in a depression, and could not be seen until an enemy came within six hundred yards of it. Thus the superiority of range of the British rifles was neutralized, and their guns could not be brought into play until within reach of the Dervish muskets. The wood was surrounded by a high zareba, behind which a crowd of Dervishes were assembled. They had anticipated an attack, and held their fire until the cavalry should come nearer. This, however, General Hunter had no intention of doing, and he retired with the information he had gained. His account of the strength of the position showed the difficulty of taking it by assault.
Next day he again went out with the same force, but this time the Dervishes were prepared. Their mounted men dashed out from the wood and galloped round to cut off the cavalry, while the foot-men crowded out to attack them in front. The cavalry fell back in perfect order, and one squadron charged forty of the Dervish cavalry, who barred the line of retreat. These they drove off, but the main body still pressed forward, and the Maxims opened upon them. The hail of bullets was too much for the horsemen, and they drew off. Several times they gathered again for a charge, but on each occasion the Maxims dispersed them. The unmounted Dervishes were soon left behind, but the horsemen, in spite of the lesson they had received, followed almost to the camp.
On the afternoon of the 7th of April the Anglo-Egyptian force marched out. They started at five in the afternoon, and halted at seven. The horses were first taken down to water, the infantry by half-battalions; all then lay down to sleep. At one o'clock the word to advance was passed round quietly. The moon was full and high overhead, so there was no difficulty in avoiding obstacles. Each brigade marched in square, accompanied by the guns and the Maxims, and the camels with provisions and spare ammunition.
At four o'clock they halted again. They had been well guided, and were now but a short distance from the enemy's position. At sunrise the men were again on their feet, and advanced to within two hundred yards of the position from which they were to deliver their attack. The British brigade —the Camerons, Warwicks, Seaforths, and Lincolns—were on the left. Next to them came Macdonald's brigade—the three Soudanese regiments in front, the 2nd Egyptian in support. Farther still to the right, and touching the river, was Maxwell's brigade, comprising also three Soudanese regiments and an Egyptian one. Two of the three Egyptian battalions of Lewis's brigade were placed on the left rear of the British brigade, the third battalion was in square round the camels. Two field-batteries were in front of the infantry and two to the right of Maxwell's brigade.
Half a mile from the zareba the infantry halted, and the artillery and Maxims opened fire. For an hour a tremendous fire was poured into the enemy's position, but not a shot was fired in reply, although the Dervishes could be seen moving among the trees, apparently unconcerned at the storm of shell and bullets.
Gregory's position had been growing more critical everyday. Food was extremely short; the scanty supplies that the force had brought with them had been long since exhausted, and they were now subsisting upon palm nuts. Of these, two were served out daily to each man, a quantity barely sufficient to keep life together. In spite of the vigilant watch kept by the more fanatical of Mahmud's followers, desertions had become frequent, notwithstanding the certain death that awaited those who were overtaken. The evening after the cavalry made their first reconnaissance the slave who brought Gregory's food told him that Fatma wished to speak to him. It was but three paces to the entrance of the tent, and his guards made no objection. The entrance was closed as the slave entered, but half a minute later it was opened an inch or two, and, without showing herself, Fatma said:
"Listen to me."
" I am listening," Gregory replied.
" I am in great fear for you; you are in much danger. The emirs say to Mahmud that you ought to be killed; their followers are well-nigh starving,—why should an infidel prisoner be eating? His friends are now close to us, and there will be a battle; none will be spared on either side,—why should this man be spared? Mahmud has many cares; the men are furious because he will not lead them out to fight. Even the emirs are sullen; and Osman Digna, who was on bad terms with him a short time ago, and who, Mahmud suspects, is intriguing with them against him, is foremost in urging that an attack should take place, though every one knows he is a coward and never shows himself in battle, always running away directly he sees that things are going against him. Still, he has five thousand followers of his own. Mahmud told me to-day that he had done all in his power, but, placed as he was, he could not withstand the words of the emirs and the complaints of the tribesmen. When the battle comes—as it must come in a day or two—it will need all his influence and the faith of the men with him to win; and with so much at stake, how can he risk everything for the sake of a single life, and that the life of an infidel? If you would agree to aid in working his guns, as the Greeks and Egyptians do, it would content the emirs."
"That I cannot do," Gregory said. "If I am to be killed it is the will of God, but better that a thousand times than turn traitor!"
" I knew that it would be so," Fatma said sorrowfully. "What can we do? At other times the protection of the harem would cover even one who had slain a chief, but now that the Baggara are half-starving, and mad with anger and disappointment, even that no longer avails. If they would brave the anger of the son of the Khalifa, they would not regard the sanctity of the harem. I wish now that I had advised you to try and escape when we left Shendy, or even when we first came here. It would have been difficult-but not impossible; but now I can see no chance. There is the thorn hedge round the wood, with few openings, and with men on watch all round to prevent desertion. Several tried to escape last night—all were caught and killed this morning. Even if it were possible to pass through, there are bands of horsemen everywhere out on the plain, keeping watch alike against the approach of the enemy and the desertion of cowards.
" I have been in despair all day that I cannot save the life of one who saved mine. I have told Mahmud that my honour is concerned, and that I would give my life for yours. Months ago he would have braved the anger of all his army for me, but he has changed much of late. It is not that he loves me less, but that he has been worried beyond bearing, and in his troubles he drinks until he forgets them. My only hope is that your people will attack to-morrow. Mahmud says that they will assuredly be beaten; they will be shot down as they approach, and none will ever be able to get through the hedge. Then, when they fall back, the Baggara will pour out horse and foot and destroy them. They will then see how right he has been in not letting them go out into the plain to fight. His influence will be restored, and your life will be safe. We are to be removed to the farther side of the wood when the fighting begins, and there all the women are to be gathered and wait till the infidels are utterly destroyed. If your people come to-morrow morning, you may be saved; otherwise I fear the worst."
"I thank you for what you have done for me," replied Gregory, " and whatever comes of it, be sure that I shall feel grateful to you, and shall not blame you for not having been able to do what was impossible. I hope my friends may come to-morrow, for, whatever my fate may be, anything is better than uncertainty."
"May Allah protect you!" the woman said with a sob; "and go now, I hear Mahmud calling me."
CHAPTER XII
THE BATTLE OF ATBARA
GREGORY had little sleep that night. It was clear to him that there was absolutely no chance of making his escape. Even were his two guards withdrawn it would not improve his position. He had no means of disguise, and even if he had an Arab dress and could stain his face, he could not hope to make his way through the crowds of sleeping men, the pitfalls and trenches, and pass out through the jealously-guarded zareba. There was nothing for him but to wait till the end. He could not blame Mahmud. A leader on the eve of a great battle could not, for the sake of a single captive, risk his influence and oppose the wishes of his followers. It was much that he had for his wife's sake postponed the fulfilment of his oath, and had so long withstood the wishes of his most influential emirs; more could not be expected. At any rate he was better off than others who had been in the same position. He had not, so far as he knew, a relation in the world,— no one who would be anywise affected by his death, and at least he would have the satisfaction of knowing that it was a kind action which had brought him to his end. He prayed earnestly, not that his life might be spared, but that his death might be a painless one, and that he might meet it as an English officer should, without showing signs of fear.
The next day he heard orders given and a great stir in camp, and he gathered from those who passed near the tent that the enemy's cavalry Avere again approaching, and that the mounted men were to ride out and cut them off from retreating, while the dismounted men were to pour out and annihilate them. Then for a time all was silence in the camp. Suddenly an outburst of shouts and cries broke out, and almost simultaneously he heard the rattle of Maxim guns,— the fight had begun. Would the Egyptian horsemen stand firm, or would they give way to panic? If they broke and fled, none whatever would return to their camp through the host of Baggara horsemen. For a time the roll of the fire from the machine-guns was incessant, then there was a pause. Two or three minutes later it broke out again, but it was evidently somewhat farther off; and so it went on, with intervals of silence, but ever getting farther away. It was clear that the horsemen had not been able to bring the cavalry to a standstill, and that these were steadily falling back, covered by the fire of the Maxims. At last the sound grew faint in the distance, and soon afterwards the noise in the camp showed that the infantry were returning. It was not till two hours later that he heard the mounted men ride in, and gathered from the talk outside that they had lost nearly two hundred men, and had been unable to prevent the Egyptian cavalry from returning to camp. Towards evening he heard angry talking, and could distinguish Mahmud's voice. Then the blanket was pulled off its supports, and two men ordered him to follow them.
This was doubtless the end, and he nerved himself for what was to come, and with head erect and a steady face he accompanied the men to the front of Mahmud's tent. The chief was standing with frowning face, and several emirs were gathered in front of him,-while a number of tribesmen stood a short distance away.
"Now," Mahmud said, "let one of you speak."
One of the emirs stepped forward. " I, Osman Digna, demand that this infidel be put to death. His countrymen have slain many of my men and yours."
Feeling now that Mahmud, after doing his best, had ceased to struggle for him, and that his death was certain, Gregory took a step forward towards the speaker and said scornfully, "So you are Osman Digna! I am one of the first of my countrymen to see your face, though many have seen your back at a distance."
Instead of provoking a pistol-shot, as he had intended, his remark was followed by a roar of laughter from the emirs, for Osman's cowardice was a byword among them, and his nickname was "One who always runs". Osman indeed had put his hand on the stock of one of the pistols in his belt, but Mahmud said imperiously, " The man's life is mine, not yours, Osman Digna. If you shoot him, I shoot you!" The fearlessness of the lad had pleased the other emirs, for, recklessly brave themselves, the Baggara appreciated and esteemed courage and honour. One of the others said: " This is a brave young fellow, and infidels as his people are, we admit that they are brave. Were it for ourselves only, we would say let him live until we see what comes of it. But our people complain. They say his folk, with whom we had no quarrel, come here and aid the Egyptians against us. They slew many yesterday. It is not right that this man should be living among us when his countrymen are fighting against us."
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br /> There was a murmur of assent among the others, then Mahmud spoke. " I have promised that he should not be killed unless by order of the Khalifa. But this I will do: he shall be placed in the front rank. If Allah wills it, he will be killed by the bullets of his countrymen. If when the fight is over he is unharmed, you shall all agree that the matter be left for the Khalifa to decide. But, mind, I wash my hands of his death. On the eve of a battle it is not for me to set my wishes above those of my emirs and my tribesmen, and I yield to your demands because it is necessary that all be of one mind. If he is killed, which surely he will be unless Allah protects him, his blood be upon your heads!"
He waved his hand, and the men came forward and again took Gregory to his tent. The latter was well contented with the decision that he should be killed. He had no doubt that at least his death would be swift and sudden- he would not be speared or cut to pieces with knives. He would see his countrymen advancing; he would know that he would be speedily avenged. Two days passed, when the news came that the Egyptians had advanced to Umdabieh, seven miles nearer, and on the following morning the Dervish camp was disturbed early. There was joy in every face, and renewed vigour in the bearing of the men. Scouting Dervishes had brought in word that the infidels had marched during the night, and were now halting but a mile and a half away. The hour had come at last. They were confident in themselves, and their trust in their leader was renewed. The fight two days before had shown them that the guns of the white men were terrible on the plain, and that it was, after all, wise to await them in the position which had been made impregnable, and against which the foe would hurl themselves in vain; then they were to pour out and annihilate them.
The slave came to Gregory's tent at daybreak. "Fatma is praying to Allah for your safety," he said. There was no time for more, for already the tents were being pulled down, and soon the women were hurried away to the rear. Four men surrounded Gregory and led him to the edge of the camp, and there fastened him to the stump of a tree that had been cut off six feet from the ground, the upper portion being used in